


Bianca's Song

by Sugarhihihello



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Backstory, Canon Compliant, F/M, Falling In Love, Kirkwall, Pre-Dragon Age II, Romance, Young Varric Tethras
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 05:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 15,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3237623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sugarhihihello/pseuds/Sugarhihihello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 9:26. </p><p>Varric is spymaster for his brother Bartrand in the Merchant's Guild. He's never published a book, never wielded his signature crossbow, and never had his heart broken by a certain ingenious Smith girl named Bianca. </p><p>This is the story he will never tell.</p><p>(A super canon-adherent attempt at recreating Varric's backstory from all the half-truths and misdirections. Rated T for sensuality and bad words lol.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (Should be posting chapters regularly every Tuesday and Saturday!!)

__

_“Varric hums a melody under his breath, recalling the untellable tale of how Bianca got her name. Few things focus Varric as much.”_

_–_ Description for “Bianca’s Song” ability in DA:II

* * *

 

**7 Bloomingtide, 9:26**

V,

I've found your way into the woods. 

Copy enclosed.

My man will take payment when he delivers this to you.

\- R.D.

 

* * *

 

 Of everything Varric had organized so far as Bartrand’s spymaster, this was the riskiest. It was also going to be the most lucrative if he succeeded.

 _When_ he succeeded. He just needed a door – a lock.

One of Varric’s contacts had heard through the grapevine – a friend of a friend of a friend – about a Smith caste girl who had a way with mechanics, especially those with fine detail work. She was young enough that her skills weren’t known much farther than her family, but talented enough to make her an option. If Varric was lucky, she wouldn’t know her worth.

He found her in her father’s workshop, stoking the fire in the forge. It was early in the morning and not many people were on the road.

“Bianca Davri?” He asked.

She startled a bit at first, but smiled. “Can I help you?”

He rubbed his chin to hide his smile. _This will be easy._

But it wasn’t. She put him on the defensive, peppering him with questions and scoffing at his answers. He rose to her challenge, both of them trying so hard to prove they weren't impressed with each other.

“Tethras, huh? Paragon's bastard. Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

He felt his eyebrows raise. _Oh?_ “It _means_ this job will be worth your time.”

“But what _is_ the job? I get that it’s secret, but I need to know what it _is_.”

“It’s a lock.”

“A lock?” She raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? You made it out like I was going to be assassinating someone.”

Varric grinned. “Is that one of your skills, my lady?”

She rolled her eyes. “So you need a lock.”

“Not just any lock. I need it to be impossible to break, impossible to open, and it needs to look old. Ancient, even.”

She rubbed a thumb over her knuckles and he could almost see the gears in her head, drawing up plans, but she wasn’t done. “Why? I’m assuming you’re trying to rob someone? Trick them into thinking something’s older, more valuable than it is?”

He threw a hand to his heart, feigned injury. “Madam, you wound me. I’m no thief.”

“As good as. Or you wouldn’t need so much secrecy.”

“I think the less you know about it, the better. All I need is a lock.”

Bianca knew her worth, unfortunately, and she knew he wanted her for her virtually unknown status – and her silence – even more than for her skills.

When he finally named a price, she laughed, crossing her ankles and leaning against the workbench before him.

“More,” she said, head shaking.

He gave more.

She raised an eyebrow. “More.”

Varric had gritted his teeth at that. _Maker’s balls, there have got to be easier smiths to work with_. But he named a higher price.

“Mo-ore.” She had sang that, the look on her face infuriating.

He leaned forward, gloved finger nearly poking her in the sternum. “Listen. That price is more than reasonable – it’s practically extortion.”

“ _Extortion_ , says the thief.”

“ _I’m not_ -“

The creak of a door and a man’s voice. “Bianca?”

She edged so far away from Varric’s hand at her chest she was nearly doing a backbend over the workbench. “Papa!”

_Papa?_

Varric straightened, replacing his frustration with charm. “Pleased to meet you, Serah Davri.” He extended his hand, smiling. “I was just discussing some work I needed commissioned with your daughter here.”

“Ah!” The man came over, shaking his hand and putting an arm around his girl. “Bianca’s work is top-notch, I assure you. She’s nearly better than I am, and learning every day.” The pride glowing on his face made his daughter’s cheeks redden. “What can we do you for, Serah…”

“Tethras. Varric Tethras.”

Bianca’s father’s eyes went wide. “ _Messere_. What can I, or my daughter, do for you, Lord Tethras?”

“We were almost finished.” He grinned. “I was just waiting for her to accept my offer.”

“What offer is that?”

“She’s to make a locking mechanism for the entrance to one of my mining operations.” And Varric named his price again.

His _original_ price.

“Andraste’s ass! That’s not what we-“

“Bianca!” The wide look in her father’s eyes told Varric he had already won. “His offer is generous. Why have you not accepted?”

“Papa…”

Serah Davri turned back to Varric. “Of course she will accept.”

He held out his hand to the girl. “Will she?”

Bianca ground her teeth, but thrust her hand into his.

Varric clasped both hands around hers, running his thumb along her palm in a caress.

Bianca ripped her hand back like he'd burned her.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**13 Bloomingtide, 9:26**

Serah Bianca Davri,

Might you do me the honor of accompanying me for a stroll this evening?

I could show you the place we talked about. I know how eager you are to see it.

I await your answer with bated breath,

Lord Varric Tethris

 

**14 Bloomingtide, 9:26**

Varric-

_Seriously?_

I’ll meet you at the Hanged Man tonight at eight bells.

-Bianca

 

* * *

 

It’s dark as they walk across the Marches, heading north to the base of the Vimmark Mountains, the low hills before it flattens into plains. It takes hours, but they have enough to talk about. Or argue about, more like.

Bianca’s bow is strapped across her back, a curved elegance nearly as tall as she is. His crossbow looks a tiny, wicked thing in comparison.  

“Crossbows are too easy. It takes no skill to point and press a button.”

He laughs, harsh in his throat. “They’re far more practical. Quick, and easier to aim.”

“Is that so?” She pulls her bow forward and notches an arrow. There’s a sign ahead where the road branches off toward a bridge over the river. She takes aim and fires, hitting the sign square in the center of the _d_ in “Bridge.”

Varric pulls his weapon forward, setting a bolt in its slot and pulling back until he hears a click.

“So much faster,” she says. “You’d die before you got a second shot off.”

He pulls the trigger, letting the force wash through him as the bolt embeds itself in the _g_ on the sign, in perfect line with her arrow. He grins at her.

When they reach the sign, she studies his work. “You were a little off,” she says.

“Andraste’s _tits_ , I’m off!” He yanks his bolt free of the wood, standing on his toes to reach it.

Another target doesn’t present itself until they reach the Thaig, and he has no interest in punching it full of holes when it’s supposed to be abandoned.

“Don’t disturb anything,” he says. “Just take your measurements.”

She pulls out her tools and gets to work, enlisting his help without any fuss. All her bluster and annoyance at him fades with her professionalism, doing the job quickly and efficiently. He watches her scribble in a notebook. Careful, even letters and numbers, along with a small diagram of the shape of the entrance.

Eventually she says, “You told Papa this was a mining operation.”

“It is.”

“Then where are the men? The carts?” She’s reading off her measuring tape and taking careful notes, but he can see the tension in her back, even in the dark. “I don’t get out of Kirkwall much, but I hear these things are usually involved in… mining.”

“It’s more of a … future mining operation. One I’m trying to keep safe until I can arrange for the rest.”

He said it so easily, but it sounded wrong to her.

“Then why-“

“ _Bianca_. It’s better if you don’t know.”

She kept quiet then, working steadily until she had what she needed and they headed back.

 

\---

 

As the sun came up over Kirkwall, rosey-orange between the buildings, Bianca pulled her bow from her back again.

“What are you-“

She put a finger to her lips, gestured at the squirrels covering the ground between several Oak trees. “How are you against moving targets?”

A grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Better than you, I’ll bet.”

“Not likely.”

In the space of a moment, she had launched an arrow at one squirrel and was pulling another from her back. Three more were down before Varric even had his bolt loaded.

“By the Maker,” he grumbled, pointing his crossbow at one of the creatures and firing.

The bolt thudded harmlessly into the trunk of the tree.

He readied another, but Bianca had already shot his target, and another, and another.

By the time Varric was ready to fire, most of the squirrels had fled.

Bianca blinked at him slowly, like a cat licking its paws.

“Alright, you win.”

She sauntered to gather her kills, hips swaying in a way Varric swore she was doing on purpose.

“Crossbows,” she scoffed. “Useless.”


	3. Chapter 3

**23 Justinian, 9:26**  

Serah Bianca Davri,

The man accompanying this missive has your payment. Your work was excellent, and exactly what I required. Thank you.

I sincerely hope I need more locks. And soon.

-Varric Tethras

P.S. If it’s not exactly six times the amount of squirrels you shot, he’s cheating you.

 

**23 Justinian, 9:26**  

Varric-

Did you intentionally send your _least_ trustworthy man to deliver my payment?

He tried to pinch my ass.

-B

 

**23 Justinian, 9:26**  

Serah Bianca Davri,

I assume the emphasis is on _tried_?

-Varric Tethras

 

**23 Justinian, 9:26**

Varric-

If he’d succeeded, he’d be missing a hand.

-B

 

* * *

 

 

Bianca seeks him out in the Hanged Man, leans against the wall. “I thought I heard you were squatting here, your lordship.”

“Don't call me that.”

She smirked. “Alright, messere. I won't.”

He throws his weight back in the chair, his boots on the table. “Since you insist... Welcome to my castle.”

He wears his hair long, a loose scruffy blonde shag around his face that he knows makes him look downright _pretty_. The earrings, the stubble, the light kohl he would never admit to lining his eyes with, his nonstop smirk. He knew she'd come to see him.

She asks how her work is holding up, he says he doesn't know what she's talking about. Word games. Words around words around words. Their eyes never leave each other.

Eventually she's leaning against the table, he's sitting upright in his chair, and they're so close.

“If you want to kiss me, you should just do it already.”

She laughs in his face, pats his cheek like he's a child, and walks out.

\--- 

Bartrand settles in one of the chairs in the Hanged Man, picking at his nails. “I hear the Paedus clan’s fairly pissed at their lead turning to dust.” He raises his eyes to his brother’s. “They’ll have your head if-“

“They won’t find out.” Varric said quickly. “It’s not my fault their lyrium vein is locked away behind an ancient mechanism.”

“Ancient, huh?” Bartrand huffs, then chews at a hangnail. “And I assume you know the secret to opening this mechanism?”

“It just so happens, I do.”

Their eyes meet for an instant and Varric grins.


	4. Chapter 4

**16 Kingsway, 9:26**

V,

You were right, and we found him. They got him holed up near the Blooming Rose.

Marked his house with a blue ribbon.

Thought you’d like that.

-R.D.

 

Varric hated the Carta. Never wanted to get mixed up in that shit, would rather avoid it if he could, but Bartrand's on fire with greed.

“A repeating crossbow,” he kept muttering. “Andraste's tits. Do you know what that’s worth?”

Varric did, and had whistled low when he first heard of the Carta’s new project, but he was still working the details out in his head. “Gerav’s never made anything that actually works, though.”

Bartrand points at his brother over the rim of his mug. “The Carta seem to think this one will. They’re throwing an awful lot of bloody coin at the man for something they don’t believe in.”

“But it doesn’t work yet. At least that’s what my sources say.”

“Still…” He scratches his chin. “Those plans are worth a fortune. Especially if we can find a Smith smart enough to make sense of them, to make it work.”

Varric looks up at that. “I know someone.”

Bartrand pauses. “Who?”

“Never ask questions, brother. It's best you not know.”

His brother scoffs and drinks deep. “You're probably right.”

\--- 

Varric goes to her, Bianca, his master smith. He stands in her doorway and watches her work. Her face shines with sweat and her hair's up in a frazzled ponytail, curls falling down around her face. The glow from the forge lights up her features, her eyes darting across the piece like she's reading it. Her arms are strong as she pounds the metal into shape, breaking off the flash in savage chunks, then with smaller tools, delicately shaping it. Her shoulders are bare, glistening in the heat of the forge.

He never wants to stop watching her.

He's seen smiths work, but not like this. Not like they're bringing something to life. She grits her teeth and growls when the metal doesn't go the way she wants, laughs when it does. “That's right,” she speaks low. “Just like that.”

Varric wonders if she fucks like she casts, and the thought heats him straight to his core.

He never wants to stop her, interrupt her. Nothing is worth interrupting this. But eventually she stills, stands back from the metal, panting.

“Bravo,” he says, clapping slow and sarcastic. “That was quite the show.”

She jumps at his voice, whirls, brandishing a hot poker in her hand. “Watch it, _messere_.” She says the word like it’s a curse.

He holds up his hands. “I meant no offense.” He wants to tell her she's magnificent, but instead he shifts his hips to his best advantage and says, “I've got a proposition for you.”

“Need another lock?”

“No. Bigger. More _dangerous_.” He meets her eyes on the last word, grinning.

“I'm not interested in cheap thrills, Deshyr. What is it, and what's it worth?”

So he tells her.


	5. Chapter 5

**3 Firstfall, 9:26**

Bianca,

I already told you. You can’t come with me. It’s too dangerous.

-Varric

 

**3 Firstfall, 9:26**  

Varric,

I need to see his workshop. His prototypes.

Just getting a copy of the plans isn’t enough.

I have to know why his earlier pieces weren’t working.

-B

 

**3 Firstfall, 9:26**  

Bianca,

No. I said no.

-Varric

 

\--- 

 

**6 Firstfall, 9:26**  

Bianca,

What did you do?  
-Varric

 

**6 Firstfall, 9:26**  

Varric,

That lovely boy… Ramael? He can’t hold his liquor for beans.

I didn’t think a Deshyr would employ one of the Dalish in his secret affairs.

Or is that the point?

Either way… Now I know about the blue ribbon, too.

Poor Ramael was just a little lonely.

Get him a girlfriend before he spills _all_ your secrets.

-B

 

_A hastily scrawled note, the quill having ripped through the page on the underline._

**6 Firstfall, 9:26**  

You are insufferable.

-V

 

**6 Firstfall, 9:26**

_The page contains nothing but a rough sketch of two dwarves - a male with far too much eyeliner, and a female wielding a bow._

_The female dwarf has pinned the male to the wall with arrows._

_Below the drawing is a heart._

-B

 

* * *

 

It takes twice as much maneuvering and even more stealth to ensure that the hovel the Carta has Gerav working in is safe for Bianca to enter. She protests it didn’t need to be quite as safe as Varric insisted it be.

“You’re my ticket to making this whole thing work. I’m not gonna let you get shot.”

“So sweet,” she said, making a face. “But I’m fine.”

_Because I made it fine_ , he thought, but kept it to himself. “Be quick.”

She practically flutters among Gerav's workbenches, speaking under her breath as she lifts each piece of the mechanisms and sets them back down. She is thorough, making sure to replace everything just so.

Her hands lift one part of the crossbow and a piece snaps off. She laughs.

Two of Varric’s men – one of them Ramael, whose cheeks are flaming red the entire time - hastily copy every scrap of paper into notebooks as another stands by the door.

Bianca sifts through a box of metal pieces, then tests the tension on three different crossbow prototypes, shaking her head.

“He’s close,” she says to no one in particular. “But his designs are too complicated. The pieces get jumbled up in each other.”

Varric’s eyes follow her around the room. He can see her mind working as she looks over Gerav’s mistakes. _It’s beautiful._

The man at the door whistles softly, then steps away.

Varric grabs Bianca’s arm. “Playtime’s over. Come on.”

She goes without protest, letting Varric shield her with his body as they leave the building, locking it behind them, just as they found it.

They step down an ally, feet fast. Two men in the front, then Bianca, then Varric, with Ramael taking up the rear.

Varric doesn’t let go of her arm, and his grip is tight.

She doesn’t protest.

Their escape route is complicated – towards the end of the alley is a door leading to an empty house with a trap door that will take them through an old smuggler’s tunnel that will dump them out by the docks. From there, they will disperse. Varric’s men will disappear in their own separate directions, and Varric will stay with Bianca until they were back at her shop.

All they had to do was get to the end of this alleyway before someone saw them.

The first two men quickly entered the house and rolled away the rug and lifted the floor up by its hinge so Bianca could descend. Her feet were on the ladder when she heard someone cry out.

_Varric!_

She tried to climb back up but the two men pushed her head back down. “Move!” One of them shouted, clambering down after her.

Bianca reached the bottom of the ladder and stood aside so the two men could climb down. They took her by the elbow and hauled her down the passageway as she stole glances over her shoulder.

_Where is he?_

She didn't cooperate with their walking until she saw a familiar pair of boots on the rungs. Ostentatious boots. Too many buckles for no damned reason.

Varric was struggling to help a bleeding Ramael down the ladder while he shut and locked the trap door behind them. The elf nearly collapsed on top of him before they hit the bottom.

Their little parade made it through the tunnel and out to the docks, but Varric detoured from the plan to take Ramael to a tavern close by, and more importantly, to the healer that lived in the back - an apostate with dark skin and darker eyes, with horns shorn off close to her scalp and white scars crisscrossing her mouth.

She spent a few seconds looking under his shirt before she shrugged. "He'll be fine. Just bleeding a lot." The Qunari woman held out her hand and Varric placed some coins in it. More coins than Bianca would have expected this to cost.

"Feed him, too. Something without rats in it. Send him home when he's better."

Bianca had never seen a Qunari before, and her eyes lingered on the woman.

Varric pulled Bianca away.

"She hates it when people stare," he muttered in her ear as they walked out.

"Sorry."

They walked in silence through the docks, winding their way through the worst parts of Kirkwall. Varric’s stance was aggressive, keeping her between himself and a wall at all times.

“I’m sorry about Ramael,” Bianca finally said.

Varric stiffened. “He’s fine.”

“I know. But… I insisted you bring me.”

He shook his head. “If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t’ve gone, and then he would have had no one to drag him down that hole. You saw the other two. They weren’t about to stop for the boy.”

She frowned. “They stopped for me.”

A low rumbling laugh filled Varric’s chest. “Because I threatened their lives before we left. Or, more importantly, said they wouldn’t get paid if you got hurt.”

Bianca blushed a little at that, and kept her head down so he wouldn’t see. _He better not see._

“Did you get what you needed?” Varric asked eventually.

“I’ll have to see the plans we copied first. But I already have some ideas.”

“Good,” he said, grinning at her.

She grinned back.

Then both quickly looked ahead.


	6. Chapter 6

**15 Firstfall 9:26**

B,

Behold! A lot of scribbles that make no sense to me.

Hopefully you have better luck.

-V

P.S. Don’t get the messenger drunk. It’s a waste of time.

I don’t tell him anything now.

 

**15 Firstfall 9:26**

V,

Poor Ramael. He could barely look at me.

I’m glad he’s okay.

I’ve barricaded myself in the workshop for the foreseeable future.

These notes are fascinating.

-B

 

**15 Firstfall 9:26**

B,

Glad you like them.

Now hurry up and make it work.

-V

 

**15 Firstfall 9:26**

V,

You can’t rush genius.

And quit bothering me.

All these messengers are costing me precious time.

-B

 

* * *

 

The Paedus clan offered a reward to anyone who could open the ancient Dwarven lock. Many tried, but the reward wasn’t worth as much as the lyrium mine inside, and those with a true stake in the market waited for them to give up, to sell the Thaig to someone else.

Eventually they did, launching a bidding war the likes of which no one had seen in years. The lyrium vein behind the door was supposedly one of the biggest seen this close to Kirkwall, and every clan believed they were clever enough to beat the lock.

Varric had faith that Bianca’s door would hold, but he had men keeping an eye on the mine (as did every other clan with an interest) to note anyone attempting to tamper with it.

The Hirol clan, small and clever, with very few holds on the surface, spent much less time trying to undercut their competitors, and far more time investigating the history of the Thaig – how it ended up in the Paedus’ hands, and how rumors of a lyrium mine were spreading if no one could get inside. They believed the entire thing a trick by the Paedus clan in order to drive up bids for a useless hole in the ground with a fancy lock.

Each clan who had offered bids was also researching the Thaig, but not as thoroughly, and Varric had the resources to turn the most persistent of them away. Since the Hirol clan wasn’t as vocal in the competition, Varric assumed they were less of a threat.

Varric was wrong.

\--- 

Varric left her alone for a solid two weeks, but he was restless. His two big projects going on – the lyrium mine, and the crossbow – both required him to just sit and wait. He was never very good at that.

He had picked up his pen to write a dozen times, but nothing came to him.

It was an odd hobby. An _embarrassing_ hobby. But he couldn’t stop himself. He started out rewriting things that had happened in his life, but changing the details to what should have happened. Then it turned into basically… glorified boasting on the page.

Now he wrote about people that never existed. It was a way to keep his mind occupied, to try things out, but he would never show anyone. He kept every page locked in a chest in a secret cache no one knew about but him.

Too risky to leave them in the Hanged Man. He was sure there was enough details in those pages to incriminate him, his brother, Bianca-

His heart stuttered over the name.

_Damned fool girl._

And yet he stood up, laced up his boots, and went to see her.

“I need to check on the crossbow,” he said as he popped the collar on his coat against the cold air. “That’s it.”


	7. Chapter 7

**25 Firstfall 9:26**

Messere Erden Paedus,

I have been investigating this thaig of yours, as my family has interest in acquiring it.

No doubt many others have contacted you regarding the mine, but I believe I have discovered some… rather interesting information that could benefit us both.

Perhaps we could arrange to meet?

Sincerely,

Maius Hirol

 

* * *

 

Bianca’s father let him in, startled to see him back, but eager to make friends with someone of his standing.

_Of course._

He found Bianca in a room at the back of the house, not in the forge. It had a bed, a desk, several shelves filled with books and knickknacks, and it seemed that every spare space of wall was covered in crossbow diagrams, with heaps of metal… things… on every available surface.

“I see you’ve been busy,” said Varric as he nudged the door open.

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a book on each knee and a crossbow in her hands. It wasn’t loaded, or strung, and seemed to have loose mechanisms dangling from it.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, not looking up.

“Hello to you, too.”

She finally lifted her eyes, but only for a second. “I’m busy.”

Varric scooped a heap of things off the chair and whirled around looking for a place to put them.

Eventually, Bianca sighed and handed him a bucket. “Here.”

He deposited them and sat, feeling suddenly awkward. _I’m useless here_.

“Do you sleep in all this?” He gestured to the clutter that continued even onto the bed.

“It’s not usually like this.” She had a tool pressed to the side of the contraption in her hands and was working it mercilessly, her tongue peeking out the side of her mouth.

Varric found himself staring.

Finally the thing she was screwing in snapped and flew back, hitting her in the cheek. “Fuck!” She rubbed at the reddening spot on her face.

“So… how is it going?” He ventured.

Bianca glared. “I’m working on it.”

She fiddled with the piece in her hand, then began screwing in the side again. Varric watched her. Her concentration, the way her hands always seemed to know what to do, the crease between her eyebrows.

_Why am I here?_

The gold highlights in her blonde hair looked darker here in this room.

_She's attractive. Strength and softness wrapped together. Muscle and curves._

He'd always wanted to kiss her, wanted to feel her body against his. He'd wanted her the same way he wanted loads of other girls.

Until he didn't.

Until somehow, now, he wanted to kiss her for entirely different reasons. Soft reasons.

Reasons that made him not know what to do with his hands, sitting here in her room. Reasons that kept him up at night replaying every stupid joke she'd made at his expense. Reasons that made heat creep along his neck.

The piece she was screwing tight flicked back, nearly hitting her in the face again.

With a frustrated growl, she threw it away from her. It made a heavy crunch.

“Hey, woah!” Varric put his hands out in front of him. “Easy. Isn't that breakable?”

“It's already broken.” She kicked it.

Her feet were bare.

That one detail, seeing the tendons in her feet and how little her toenails were...

_For fuck's sake,_ he thought. _I'm looking at feet now? What is she_ _ **doing**_ _to me?_

She was looking at him. “Why are you here?”

“I was checking up on you. Seeing how things were going?”

She huffed. “You've said that. And I'm working on it.” She leaned her head back on her bed and rubbed her face with her hands.

“Maybe you need a break? What do you do for fun?”

Bianca laughed and gestured at everything around her. “This.”

“This isn't fun.”

She grinned. “It is for me.”

He rasped the stubble on his jaw. “No, fun is drinking, dancing, playing cards, tourneys.”

“Well, sure,” she said. “But I like the quiet, too. Getting lost in a project. Reading.”

“Reading?”

She dropped her eyes to the floor, gathered some scattered bits and bobs. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

“Okay.” He said, standing up and going to inspect the shelves.

“Hey, wait!” She stood up, put herself between him and the books. “What are you doing.”

His heart did a flip, shooting from his stomach to his brain and back again. She was looking up at him, big dark eyes scowling at him, hands on his chest – _her hands on his chest_ – pushing him away.

“Don't go through my stuff!”

He smirked but felt it quiver on his face. _Her hands on his chest._ “Why? Got something to hide?”

_Thank the Maker I didn't button it all the way_ , he thought, feeling her skin on his, her calloused fingertips tickling the hair there.

“It's personal!” Her voice was loud, ringing in his ears. “Why did Papa even let you in here?”

His hands circled her forearms. They were so small in his hands, even though he could feel the cords of muscle flexing under her skin as she pushed him farther away from the books on her wall. “I think he's trying to impress me.”

“Ha!” She'd bodily shoved him halfway across the room. Nearly to the bed.

“I bet you read smutty romance novels, don't you?”

She opened her mouth to protest, but then glared harder. “And what if I do?” She gave him one last shove.

He felt the mattress on the back of his knees.

“It just means… you probably have lots of _ideas_.” He tilted his head, grinning, letting his voice go husky.

She blinked. “You-” She gave a cry then, pushing on him with all her strength.

He toppled backwards.

He didn't let go of her arms.

Bianca squeaked as she landed on top of him, tangled limbs and hair in his face. Varric's heart soared.

She met his eyes, face inches from his. He could feel her breath on his face.

_Don't move_ , he thought. _Don't ever move._ His drew his thumbs over the skin on her arms, pressed tight between them.

“You know,” she said, voice breathy and low. “If you want to kiss me, you should just do it already.”

_Maker, yes_. He releases her arms, slides one hand up around her neck, the other dropping to her hip.

Bianca springs back, laughing and rubbing her forearms. “Nice try.”

It feels like someone's knocked the wind out of him, and his body is cold where hers used to be. “What-”

“You're a shameless flirt, Deshyr. Shameless.” She settles back down on the floor, her back to the wall, body a tight coil around the piece she abandoned earlier. “And I have much better things to do.” She bites her lip, grinning over the tool she's already taken up. “Run along, now.”

Varric stands, knees shaking.

When he doesn't move, she flaps a hand at him. “Shoo shoo.”

So he leaves, a shambling corpse.

And when the door to her house shuts behind him, he leans his back against it and huffs a cloud of breath-smoke up to the two moons barely peeking through the cloudy, starless sky.

“ _What the fuck was that?”_


	8. Chapter 8

**30 Firstfall 9:26**

Serah Maius Hirol,

Your information does suggest that the thaig has been tampered with.

You must stop withholding the name of the blighted bastard who did this so we can act.

-Erden Paedus

 

**30 Firstfall 9:26**

Messere Erden Paedus,

Patience, friend. Have your men ready and armed. We will strike tomorrow, after sundown.

And then you and I can discuss a partnership for the mine.

-Maius Hirol

 

* * *

 

Bianca wakes him in the middle of the night. She’s panting, covered in sweat.

And holding a massive crossbow.

“Did you run here?” Varric rubs his face, sitting up in bed.

“I did it.”

“Did… what?”

Bianca points the crossbow above his head, fires one, two, three, _four,_ _five_ times in a row.

He's ducking, shouting at her to stop, and she laughs. One boot up on the mattress, standing at the foot of his bed, she laughs – loud – and fires three more rounds into the wall.

“I did it!”

He crawls to her, puts his feet on the floor, staring at the weapon she’s resting against her shoulder, then up at her face.

Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes sparkle with madness. “I did what no one else could do.”

“Bianca.” Her name is a gasp in his mouth. “Do you know what this means?”

“It means, Varric Tethras,” she said, lowering the massive crossbow to point at the ground. “That I might let you kiss me now.”

His heart thuds in his chest. He almost gabbles, “ _Really_?” But instead just reaches forward, pulling her to him by her belt loops.

She leans over him, her hair tickling his face as she comes nearer, the crossbow crushed between them, and she kisses him.

She _kisses_ him and all that strength and fury he had seen in the forge, the wild passion, it's drawn down to the precision of one kiss, one tap of a hammer against his spine and he shatters like excess flash. She tempers him with that kiss, refines him.

And then it's done. She pulls back, a cocky grin on her lips – _her lips_ – and for once he doesn't try to hide the naked admiration on his face as he whispers her name, breath whistling through her open mouth before she kisses him again.

_Bianca._

\---

And with her shirt half off, her boots still on, she digs her nails into his shoulder, teeth against his throat.

He's tried to flip her over four separate times and at every attempt, she laughs, wild.

“Stay where I put you.”

He pulls her clothes away, runs his tongue along her sides. She shivers at his touch - gasping moans, thighs quivering. He shifts again, moving her to her side and she wrestles him back with just her hips.

“What did I say?”

He's never seen a girl smile so much during sex, grinning and laughing as often as she groans, dark and rich. He's never seen a girl move like this, her body an arc of strength and fire, using him exactly how she pleases.

“Bianca.”

“Yes.” She throws her head back, peeling his leather pants back as she rocks her hips. “Say my name, Deshyr.”

He pulls himself up enough to dig his fingers in her hair and press his forehead to hers. “Say mine.”

Her lashes flutter and he didn't think he could want her any more than he already did but then her cheeks go pink and she whispers, almost shyly, “Varric.”

Every soft feeling he'd been trying to ignore breaks like floodwater over a dam and he is kissing her again, gentle, slow. He's never kissed anyone like this.

Two heartbeats of breath between their parted lips, mirrored expressions of disbelief, then she laughs, a nervous flutter of a sound going hot at the edges, gaining strength, a butterfly bursting into flame.

She pushes him back into the bed, grinds her hips into his.

“Varric Tethras.” She bites her lip as she grins, hands running up his chest, using him to arch her back and make him dizzy with the sight and feel of her body on his.

She licks her lips.

“You're mine.”

\---

It turns out, Bianca Davri _does_ fuck exactly like she casts.

\---

 _She fits so well in my arms._ He presses a hesitant kiss to her hair, nervous because now is when he finds out what this means. _Was she caught up in her success? Passing time? Or-_

She hums a little at his kiss and presses closer. “I’ve wanted to bed you for a while.”

Varric gives a startled laugh. “Oh really?”

“Really.” He can feel her low voice vibrating against his body.

 _She’s not leaving,_ he thinks. _That’s a good sign._

He’s surprised at how badly he doesn’t want her to leave.

Afterglow is still washing over both of them, and their breaths are growing steady. Her hand is on his chest, her head on his shoulder, legs still tangled. She hasn’t moved since she rolled off him.

Varric can feel her heartbeat, still rapid under his hand.

“So,” she says.

“So?”

Bianca shifts, pulling away from him to sit on the edge of the bed, her back to him.

“Wait.” He reaches out to touch her, but he can barely brush his fingertips along her back. “Don’t go.”

She turns to look at him over her shoulder. “You don’t have to do that. I mean…” She chuckles. “Your reputation precedes you. I wouldn’t have done it if I had expectations.”

“Damnit, Bianca. I’m not trying to be gallant. I want-“ He clears his throat. “I want you to stay.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Oh really?”

“Really.” She blinks steadily at him and he feels a stupid grin forming on his face. “Get back here.”

They curl around each other and Varric tugs the blanket over her as she settles into his arms, a glow spreading through his chest as he tucks himself around her. Her body doesn’t completely relax, her fingertips tickling the hair on his arms as they wander restlessly.

It’s easier to say what he wants to say now that he’s not looking at her face. “It’d be alright if you wanted to have… expectations.”

Her fingers stop roaming his arm. “What, the great Varric Tethras finally settling down?”

He laughs. “I’m not asking you to move in or anything.”

“Good.” Her hands curve around his larger one, pulling it up so she can rest her cheek against it briefly. When she speaks, her voice is soft. “So what _are_ you asking?”

 _I have no idea_. There’s no forming it into words. He wants to see her as often as he can. He wants to hold her and kiss her and watch her work. He wants to make her laugh and make her push him onto her bed again. He wants her to keep throwing him off-balance, unsteadying him. This _feeling_ he gets when he’s around her… _There’s no way to say any of this without looking like an idiot._

 _As if she doesn’t_ _**excel** _ _at making me look like an idiot._

“I want… you… to be with me. Be… mine, I guess. My girl.”

“Your girl?” She laughs.

And _damn the woman_ if Varric doesn’t actually blush.

He huffs. “Is that so ridiculous?”

Bianca stops laughing. She turns in his arms and looks at him for a long moment, face serious. Then she smiles and kisses him, sweet and soft.

“No. It’s not ridiculous.”

He squeezes her waist closer to him, both of them smiling at each other like their brains are addled.

Varric leans in to kiss her again and her hands dig into his hair, drawing him deeper into her, when they hear boots stomping on the stairs.

“Varric Tethras!” Shouts an angry voice. “Open this door!”

Fists pounding on the wood.

They scramble to sit up, to untangle themselves.

Varric’s first instinct is to shield Bianca, and he tries to shove her behind him on the bed, but she’s already standing, grabbing the crossbow from where they had left it on the floor.

Her hair is wild and her eyes are wide, but she says, voice steady, “Where?”

He pushes aside a dresser in the corner of the room and tugs the corner of a hidden panel. There’s barely enough room for the crossbow to wedge into the compartment, and the door is shuddering with the force pounding on it.

“Do you always wake up to angry mobs?” Bianca asks, helping him shove the dresser back into place.

“On occasion.” Varric is at the window next, yanking up the pane. It protests with a loud screech, but it finally lifts. “Get out of here.”

Bianca glances out the window at the sheer drop two stories to the ground. “That’s not happening.”

“Bianca-“

“We have men on the ground outside, Tethras,” growls the voice behind the door. “Jump and we’ll have you.”

She scoops up her shirt from the ground and slips it over her head, already shuffling into her breeches. “Nothing for it,” she says, fingers combing through her hair. “Unless you have another way out.”

“I’m going to have to have one installed,” he mutters, finding his own pants discarded over a chair.

Finally the door bursts open, two red-faced dwarven men barreling into the room, more following after.

“Tethras!” Bellows the first, the same angry voice they heard in the hall. He launches into a speech, but is quickly spoken over by the woman behind him.

“Bianca?”

“Aunt Gavri?”

The red-faced man pauses, then, and peers behind Varric to the girl. His brother’s wife’s niece. “Bianca! What are you doing here?”

Varric turns to see the girl – _his girl_ – turn beet red, all her self-confidence crumbling.

“I… I was…” She shook herself. “What are _you_ doing here, Uncle?”

“This man,” shouts her uncle, a shaking finger marking every word. “Has cost our family a fortune.”

“Serah Paedus, listen. There’s some mistake-“

“There’s _no_ mistake.” As Erden Paedus explains how he found out, how Hirol’s men had discovered Varric’s contact, how they’d traced the path of information to “that skinny little knife-ear,” and how they left Ramael bleeding in the dirt, Varric’s body grows colder, his jaw clenches.

Bianca looks from her uncle to her… to Varric. The gears are turning in her head as she slots the pieces into place. Until the mining operation was fully in place, it had been a secret. No one would have thought to tell her, barely past twenty years old with no stake in the family business, that they were about to come into a fortune. The job. The lock. _I should have asked more questions. He kept putting me off but I should have pushed for more._

“How could you do this?” She asks, voice quiet.

Varric gives her a look, a twist of confusion, regret and annoyance. “Bianca-“

“No, I mean. I _know_ how you could do this.” She waves her arm. “But how could you ask _me_ to do this.” The pieces kept falling in place and she closed her eyes. The Davri and Paedus clans were only connected by one marriage – her mother’s sister Gavri. Even Bianca didn’t see her aunt and uncle that often, though affection between them and her mother was strong. Varric probably investigated her past before asking for her help, but it would have been easy to overlook this one connection. One little oversight.

Gavri’s eyes narrowed on her niece. “What did you do, girl?”

“I-“

“She didn’t do anything,” said Varric.

“Ha!” Erden Paedus leered at them. “Besides whore herself out to the enemy?”

“Erden!” Gavri charges forward, takes her niece by the arm and pulls her from Varric’s side. “That’s enough.” Grip firm, Gavri marches from the room.

Bianca barely gets one last glance over her shoulder before she can’t see him anymore.


	9. Chapter 9

**2 Haring 9:26**

_Folded and placed inside a copy of_ _ Vices of a Viscount _ _._

V,

I hope this reaches you. I didn’t know if it was safe to send messengers directly to you, but Tamarin is trustworthy, and she’s always visiting the bookstore near the Hanged Man. The one with the bluebird on the sign.

My family has me practically under house arrest. I’m so sorry. I wanted to get word to you earlier.

Are you alright? I heard you were still alive, at least, ~~but I just needed to hear from~~

If you are able, and if you want to, can you just let me know you’re alright?

If you don’t ever want to hear from me again, I understand.

Just be safe.

-B

 

* * *

 

Bartrand pours more of the foul-smelling liquid on a cloth and holds it to Varric’s face. He winces, rattling off a list of curses.

“Hold still, bloody idiot.” Bartrand grips his brother’s head. “The sooner you let me patch you up, the sooner it’ll stop hurting.”

Varric gingerly touches his swelling lip with ice. “A healer would work a lot faster.”

“Two different healers came and went before you woke up. By the Ancestors, Varric, you almost got yourself killed.”

He scowled at his brother’s floor. “How did you convince them not to?”

“A lot of armed men. We had to haul you out.”

“And Bianca?”

Bartrand’s face went livid. “The girl was the worst part. Insult to injury. They hated you before, probably would have killed you anyway, but now it’s a manner of honor. You tricked them and seduced one of their daughters. "

"Bianca's a Davri, not a Paedus."

His brother's face turned dangerously purple. "And do you think they care about such a technicality? She's their blood and you took her just like you took their thaig." When he pressed to cloth to Varric's cut this time, it was much rougher than necessary.

"It wasn't like that."

Bartrand just kept scrubbing at his face. "It doesn't matter. They're going to come after you, try to finish what they started. The Hirol and the Paedus clans are united in this, and are quickly gaining followers among everyone who already wasted coin on that thaig." He sighed. "We're not without allies, though. As long as we can keep you from getting killed, and keep from stirring up anymore trouble..." He gave Varric a very stern glance at that.

"I'll lay low, brother. Don't worry."

"And keep away from that girl."

Varric winced.

" _I mean it,_ Varric. Don't make this any worse."


	10. Chapter 10

**6 Haring 9:26**

_Folded and placed inside a copy of_ _ The Merchant Prince’s Lady _

B,

You daft girl. You daft and beautiful girl.

Of course I want to hear from you. What, you think you’re the first girl to have her family beat me up? I’ve had much worse, I’m telling you.

I’m fine. Don’t worry. A little roughed up, but it’s not bad.

I like that you’re worried about me. No one’s ever worried about me before.

At least not for a long time. Bartrand just yells at me when things go wrong.

Being worried about is… nice.

I’m so sorry I got you mixed up in this. I tried to tell you as little as possible because I thought it would keep you safe from the worst of it. I should’ve done my research. I did, but… I should’ve done it better.

By the way… I’m not at the Hanged Man anymore. My brother thinks I’ll be safer where he can surround me with an armored guard. Does your friend visit the bookstore in Hightown? The one across from the shoe store with the peacock in the window? I’ll leave a book with the shopkeeper.

-V

P.S. Vices of a Viscount? Really? Your taste in literature is appalling. I’m sending something good.

 

 

**8 Haring 9:26**

_Folded and placed inside a copy of_ _ Lowtown Roses _ _._

V,

So we can agree that we’re both sufficiently sorry? If you had researched my family, you would never have asked me to help. And I would never have met you. So hush.

Also, is The Merchant Prince’s Lady supposed to be a hint? Would that make you Valtorin? Think awfully highly of yourself there. By “good,” you clearly just meant “dirty.” Anyone can write smut. It takes a true artist to write something that makes you fall in love with the characters, not just make you want to bed them.

Since you clearly need some education in this, I’m sending over Lowtown Roses with Tamarin. It features some ladies from the Blooming Rose, fictional ones at least. You should appreciate that.

-B

P.S. I think Tamarin has a crush on you. Stop leaving flirty notes for her, or you’ll give her ideas.

 

**10 Haring 9:26**

_Folded and placed inside a copy of_ _ Twixt Twins _ _._

B,

I would hate to not have met you, too.

Where do you get this idea that I’ve ever visited to the Blooming Rose? Except on business, of course. I certainly don’t have to pay to get women to notice me, thank you very much.

Either way… Lowtown Roses was… well. It would ruin my reputation if you knew that I cried at the ending. So I’m not going to tell you that. At all. I think I can match your idea of a good book. Tell me what you think.

Can I assume from the frequency of your letters that you are still mine? Am I allowed to hope so?

I’m certainly still yours. Have been since we met.

-V

P.S. I wasn’t flirting. Just being friendly.

P.P.S. Tamarin is safe from me. Surely you know that.

 

**11 Haring 9:26**

_Folded and placed inside a copy of_ _Sundermount Sins_.

V,

Yes, you silly boy. I am yours. Wait for this to blow over, and I’ll see you again.

You’ve matched me book for book. That was amazing. _Amazing_. Send more, if you have them!

For something a little different, I'm sending a mystery. Are you actually reading these? You send them back so fast.

-B

P.S. You’re far too friendly for your own good, Deshyr.

 

**13 Haring 9:26**

_Folded and placed inside a copy of_ _ Pride and Peppermints _ _._

My Girl,

I can't wait to hear you say _you're mine_ in person.

And I am going to make you say it.

Probably more than once.

Hmm... mysteries are definitely more my style. I like the challenge. How about a trade. Pretty love for lovely puzzles?

I'm not sure this will ever blow over. My brother thinks we're on the verge of an all-out war between the clans, and locked up here in Hightown, I can't use my network as well as I'd like to verify it.

Also... why do you insist on expecting the worst from me? Of course I'm reading them. There's nothing else to do in this place.

Besides, the faster I read them, the faster I get to hear from you again.

Yours, Absolutely Yours,

-V

 

* * *

 

 

"I need to get into my suite at the Hanged Man."

Bartrand rolls his eyes, "No."

"I have something stashed there that I need."

"What is it? I can send someone, but if you go within five blocks of the Hanged Man, you'll be shot on sight."

"No. It's valuable. I don't trust any of your men. Or mine, for that matter. Not with this."

The two brothers looked at each other a minute.

"Are you going to tell me what it is you need?"

Varric grinned. "Trust me, it'll be much better if you see it."

Drumming his fingers on the table, Bartrand shook his head. "I won't let you get killed over this. The Paedus clan has that place watched at all times."

"Just my room specifically, or the area?"

His brother's hand turned into a fist. "No, Varric. No."

Varric held up his hands. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm just asking."

"You're never just asking."


	11. Chapter 11

**17 Haring 9:26**

My Girl,

So, you remember our baby? Pitifully abandoned? Locked away? I was thinking about getting her back. I don't trust any of my men, and certainly none of my brother's, with such precious cargo.

But I thought maybe Tamarin would be amenable?

This'll take some coordination on your part. I've included maps, and some ideas... call it the sketch of a plan.

What do you think?

Yours,

V

 

**19 Haring 9:26**

V,

Why your lordship, I didn't even know you were pregnant! A baby girl, is it? Whatever are you going to name her? Petunia? Mirabelle?

You've just made Tamarin's entire year. You really ought to put her on your payroll, with how much sneaking around she does for you.

She and I have come up with a plan. It is, of course, much better than yours.

We just need to set a date. When can you be sure of easy access to the servant's entrance of your lordly mansion?

“ ~~ _Your Girl_~~ _,” is so scribbled out it's nearly illegible._

B

* * *

 

Bartrand had asked Varric to keep out of sight during his annual guild dinner. Everyone worth their weight in the Merchant's Guild was going to be at the Tethras estate, and since half of them wanted to see Varric's entrails strung up like streamers, he'd been banished to the kitchen.

This suited Varric fine, as this night was the one he had given Bianca for their little heist.

_Lots of servants coming and going, deliveries being made. Most of the guild members will have their best men with them as bodyguards, or at their own holdings to prevent anyone trying to take advantage of the situation. Still, tell Tamarin to be careful._

Since he had never actually seen Tamarin, Bianca had provided a “description” - _Smith caste with dirty blonde hair, looks just like every other dwarven girl. Good luck!_ \- but it wasn't helping. He spent the evening sitting on a barrel by the back door, staring at every short, stocky person far harder than was necessary.

A servant came in, shuffling their feet on the rug to knock the snow off, cloak concealing everything but the basket of food in their arms.

Varric's eyes flicked to the servant, who pulled back her hood-

“ _Bianca!_ ” He hissed, leaping off the barrel, dragging her out of the kitchen and into a side area only used for storage.

“Can I put my basket down first?” She staggered as he dragged her away.

“No you _cannot_.” He kicked the door shut behind them, the only light coming from a thin window at the top of the room like a jail cell. “What were you thinking coming here?”

“Calm down.” She turned and set the basket down, then untied her cloak.

“Do you know what would happen if-”

Under the cloak, she was wearing a soft grey dress with black buckles.

He'd never seen her in a dress.

“If anyone... saw...”

Her lips curved in a smirk, revealing the smallest of a dimple right above her jaw. “No one saw.” She stepped into his space, put his hands on her hips.

“You need to go. This is dangerous.” But his eyes were on her mouth.

Bianca twined her arms at the back of his neck and stood on her toes. “I just came to tell you something. Then I'll go.”

“Yeah?” His voice was barely more than breath.

She brushed her lips over his ear. “I'm yours.”

Varric closed his eyes and made a soft sound, collapsing his arms against her back and holding her to him tightly.

Bianca giggled.

“Kiss me,” he said, voice hoarse. “Kiss me _now_.”

“So impatie-”

He crushed his mouth to hers, letting his fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck.

She felt exactly as good as he remembered.

 

\---

 

Bianca’s hands dig into his hair, her legs pressing on either side of his head. “Varric,” she moans, then again and again. “ _Varric!_ ”

He looks up. “What do you need, my girl?”

“Your tongue,” she says breathlessly. “On me. _Now_.”

Varric laughs, kissing the inside of her thigh. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re really bossy.”

With a frustrated growl, she presses down on his head.

He laughs again, settling his arms under her. “And _violent_.”

 

\---

 

Bianca tugged her dress back down where it belonged. “What happened to trying to kick me out?”

He couldn't stop touching her, his hands trailing her hips and her spine and her arms and-

“You still shouldn't have come.”

She made a face. “Maybe I should go, then.”

His hold tightened.

She beamed.

“Aren’t you going to ask me where your _child_ is?”

“Did you bring her?”

Bianca dug through the bread and vegetables in the basket until she unearthed the crossbow.

It glittered in the low light, every twist of metal on it shining in the dark.

“Can I hold her?”

With a roll of her eyes, she dropped the crossbow into his waiting arms. He tested the heft of the weapon, then ran his hands over the detail work. “You spent plenty of time making her pretty.”

“I did that when I got frustrated with the rest not working. It was a nice break.”

“You took a break from working… by doing more work.”

“It was fun.” She pulled bolts out of the basket. “These are easy to make, but they do have to be specifically crafted.” Following the bolts was a sheaf of papers. “Here’s the designs for them.”

“And the designs for the crossbow?”

She wrinkled her nose. “As if I’d give you those.”

“ _Bianca_ ,” he turned his voice silky-smooth. “Come on.”

Fist slamming his chest, she pushed him back. “I’m immune to your _wiles_ , Deshyr.”

He grinned, wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her close. “Not _that_ immune.”

“You didn’t win me over with your outrageous flirting, that’s for sure.”

“No? What was it then? My charm? My undeniable good looks?”

She nipped at his neck. “Telling you would just make your ego even bigger than it already is.”

Varric let go of her, carrying the crossbow and its accoutrements to the wall beneath the window. With the press of a few bricks in the wall, a niche was revealed, and he placed them into it.

“How many secret compartments can one person possibly have at his disposal?”

“I have _many_ secrets at my disposal.”

He closed the crossbow away and smiled.

 

\---

 

“This is the worst idea you've ever had.” Varric hissed as she walked down the hallway.

“Hush. You worry too much.” She stepped on the first stair and twirled, skirt spinning, to put her hands on his shoulders. “And why would the Guild be checking out your room?”

“It's really not... We should go back.”

She kissed him. “Hush.”

 

\---

 

His room was lavish, warm. There were loose papers and ink all over the desk, nearly taking up a whole corner with their clutter. The rest of it looked like it had been handpicked by a decorator, not Varric himself.

“I'm never here,” he said. “Well, except for recently.”

Varric folded his arms, leaned against one of the posts on his bed, remembering the way she pushed him down that first night, how she'd ripped his belt out of every belt loop in one pull, smirking.

Bianca lighted on the desk like she'd discovered treasure.

“Wait-” He reached for her but she dodged, scooping up a page.

She started to read aloud, but her playfulness faltered.

“Did you write this?”

He didn't respond, tightening the cross of his arms.

“Varric, this is... it's really good.”

“It's just something to pass the time. It's nothing. Put it back.”

She set it down gently, trailing a finger along one of the lines. “I didn't know you wrote.”

“I write to you all the time.”

“You know what I mean.”

Bianca tugs his arms away from his chest and slides into them, tilts her face up. “You're remarkable, Varric Tethras.”

“I could've told you that.” He grins.

She smacks him on the shoulder, then lays her head on it.

“My girl,” Varric rumbles in his chest, dragging his chin across her hair.

“Your girl.” A whisper on the sweetest smile she's ever had.


	12. Chapter 12

**10 Haring 9:26**

_The page contains several technical diagrams of crossbow bolts, with careful notes along the edges._

_One design shows a hollow cavity in the bolt, with an arrow pointing to the space. The note near it reads:_

For poisons, explosives, or whatever you want, really.

_A circle around the word “explosives” with another arrow and another note:_

Try not to blow yourself up, Deshyr.

* * *

 

The two of them stood outside the door to the main hall where Bartrand’s Guild dinner was taking place. It was shut, but that didn’t do much to muffle the raised voices and sound of weapons being unsheathed.

“Is this how these dinners usually go?” asked Bianca.

“No. It’s pretty much all bluster and thinly-veiled threats, not actual shouting and swinging steel around.”

“Should we do something?”

“There’s nothing we can do. If they see me, they’ll only get angrier.”

“I imagine you have that effect on people, yes.”

He threw her a look. “You talk big for someone who was _moaning my name_ not half an hour ago.”

A loud, angry voice rose above the others, drawing nearer. “We don’t have to sit here and take this, Mama. Let’s-“

The door opened.

“Shit,” whispered Bianca.

Standing in the doorway was a tall – for a dwarf – woman with red hair done up in braids on either side of her head. The truly impressive amount of freckles on her face and arms was only overshadowed by the size of her muscled bulk.

And the axe in her hand.

“Varric Tethras!” she shouted, gritting her teeth and cocking a hip. “And his little bit of Smith on the side.”

“ _Shit._ ” hissed Varric.

The hall went silent.

“Dusana Helmi.” Varric attempted to smile. “What a pleasure to see you again.”

“Pleasure. Ha!” She brought the head of her axe up to butt against the underside of his chin, tilting his head back, exposing his throat. “We were just talking about you.”

“You don’t say?”

Several others had risen from their seats, weapons bared, and were clustering around the door looking for a show. The noise was swelling as they muttered among themselves and grumbled threats and outrage.

Bartrand, face nearly purple, shouldered his way through the crowd, but wasn’t getting very far.

“Bianca?” asked a voice near the back of the group. “That’s Bianca, isn’t it!”  
“Shit shit _shit_.” Varric’s brain was trying to find a loophole, a distraction, some way to wiggle out of this mess. The Helmi and Hirol clans were both noble houses from Orzammar, just as the Tethras house had been. Their roots went deep, and their animosity towards his father ran even deeper. _Helmi, Hirol, Paedus, and Davri_. _That’s four clans against us_. He did some mental calculation, scanning the growing group of angry faces. _Our allies are dwindling, and even the ones on our side seem pissed. This is_ _ **not**_ _going to end well._

He tried to shuffle in front of Bianca, hide her with his bulk, head still lifted at a strange angle by the Dusana’s axe.

Bianca hooked her fingers around his, trying to be comforting. _No, Bianca, don’t_ -

Dusana’s eyes flicked to the motion of their hands. “ _Varric Tethras_.” She spat it like a curse.

Then her arm was swinging.

Varric ducked, the axe barely skimming the top of his hair. He pulled Bianca down with him. She let out a squeak but kept her balance as Varric pulled a dagger from his boot and stood up, tugging her behind him and backing down the hall.

“Run!” He shouted, seeing that Dusana’s swing had incited the rest to scramble through the door after him. “ _Run!_ ”

She ran with him, letting go of his hand to pull a dagger of her own out of her dress.

“Andraste’s ass, where did you stash that?”

“Oh, you know. Places.” Her hand fluttered over the banister as they ran down the stairs.

“More to the point, how did I not find it earlier?” He had found two more knives in the pockets of his coat and passed one to her as she rounded the landing.

“Are you in the habit of patting your lovers down for weapons? Is that your idea of foreplay?”

They had nearly made it to the side entrance. Varric turned to see their pursuers barely at the top of the stairs, a force of angry, shouting dwarves.

“My girl,” he grinned as she passed him. “I believe you’re quite familiar with my idea of foreplay.”

Bianca yanked open the door and sprinted through it, Varric on her heels.

“Bianca!” A young female voice cried. “There you are!”

Varric whirled, his hands lifting as though he were holding a crossbow instead of knives. _Damn instincts_.

Bianca had no such issues, pushing the owner of the voice against the wall, blade at her throat. It wasn’t until the two had slammed into the brick that the light fell across the girl’s face.

 _Tamarin_.

Bianca cursed a blue streak. “Tamarin, why are you here?”

“Easy! Easy!” She held up her hands. “Bianca, I was just-“

“No time.” Varric could hear the pounding feet getting nearer. “Run, Tamarin!”

“Run? What-“

Bianca had grabbed her cousin by the elbow and was pulling her forward. Varric paced backward a few steps, turning to run just as he saw the head of Dusana’s axe.

“Run!” He shouted, as if that would help, as if Tamarin wasn’t suddenly terrified, tripping over her own feet.

They stumbled down the uneven cobbled road, not looking back.

“Turn down that alley ahead. I know a shortcut,” Varric shouts, lungs burning. He hasn't run this much in years.

They reach the alley, and Bianca suddenly pushes Tamarin into Varric's arms. “Take her. You're stronger than I am.”

Tamarin is exhausted and can barely stand. He takes the girl's arm, guiding her to a side door, yanking it open. “It's just through here.”

Bianca's cousin sinks against the wall inside as Varric stomps on the mechanism to open the hidden panel in the wall.

The door behind them slams. The sound of empty crates being knocked over.

Varric finally looks up.

Bianca's not with him anymore.

“Bianca!” He tries to shove the door open, but there's something heavy in the way. He hears her voice, far away.

“I don't know where he went. He shoved me down this alley and just... disappeared.”

“Bianca.” He winces on the word. _My girl, what did you do?_

“Come on,” Tamarin's pulling on the hem of his coat. “They won't hurt her.”

He doesn't move, and she tugs at him again.

“They're going to start searching this alley soon. She'll kill you if you let them find us.”

She's right, and Varric goes, cursing every single step.


	13. Chapter 13

**23 Haring 9:26**

My Girl,

I’m okay. I’m alive. Maybe not for much longer, if Bartrand has anything to say about it. _Furious_ would be an understatement.

Are you alright? I don’t need you to do take risks like that. I know they’re your family, but… _Bianca_ , don’t do things like that. Ever.

I had to sneak back into my own home. I’m doing a lot of sneaking these days.

Yours,

V

 

**28 Haring 9:26**

My Girl,

No word from you yet.

Have you finally written me off as a bad job?

Still yours,

V

 

**30 Haring 9:26**

B,

I sent someone ‘round to your workshop just to make sure you were okay.

The report came back – “She was standing there pounding on metal like she was killing a man.”

Have I told you that you’re sexiest when you’re working?

I’m glad you aren’t here to hit me for that.

And I’m glad you’re okay.

I’m not gonna stop leaving messages for you, even if I have to go broke ordering books to stick them in.

Yours,

V

 

**1 Wintermarch 9:27**

_Folded and placed inside a blank journal. The cover is decorated silver plate bound in leather._

V,

Happy First Day. I hope you still check this post. I’m going to try and slip away to the shop during the First visits. It’s the first (ha!) time I’ve been given permission to leave the house since… well, since. And even then, I’m to be _accompanied_ by my family at all times.

My association with you has made things hard for my family. Most of the Smith clans see me as some kind of traitor, and all the Davri are being thoroughly shunned. Thankfully the human clientele doesn’t know or care about our politics, so we’ve no want of business. My father and I have kept busy.

But it’s still hard.

I may have... _defended your honor_ , I suppose, or maybe my own, I’m not sure, but my parents are now convinced that you’ve got me under some kind of compulsion and if I’m let outside for even a minute, I’ll run away to do your evil bidding.

Tamarin has been banished from me, too. Somebody saw her at your Brother’s dinner and her parents have forbidden us from seeing each other. Still, she got by them once. She told me what happened. Thank you for taking care of her. I knew you would.

I know it’s silly, but since I have nothing else to do now, I’ve spent all my time in the workshop, and… I made you something. It’s for your writing. The writing you of course don’t do and would never dream of doing. But I thought it might be nice to have one place to put everything, instead of just piles of paper all over your desk.

I’ve never tried to create something so strictly decorative before. It was an interesting challenge.

I’m trying to work something out with my parents and everyone to make this right. If I open the thaig for the Paedus clan, make it seem like I solved the puzzle instead of being the one who made it in the first place, maybe things will calm down. Maybe.

I miss you,

B

_Hastily scrawled on the back side of the paper, most of it badly scratched out:_

Of course I haven’t written you off, you blighted fool. ~~I probably should, but I don’t want to~~

~~I’ve never felt this way~~

~~I miss you and I can’t stop thinking about~~

~~Damn you, you stupid~~

You’re a pain in the ass, Deshyr. But I’m ~~always~~ still your girl.

 

* * *

 

Varric lifted the hood of his cloak just enough for the moonlight to fall on his face. The guards stepped back, surprised.

"M-messere," they stammered, sheathing their weapons.

He gave them a nod, walking through the kitchens and up through the main hall. It was dark in his brother's mansion.

Varric took the stairs two at a time, yanking the cloak from his neck. He wadded it up as he went. _Hate cloaks,_ he groused in his mind.

His room was cold. He shivered as he knelt before the fire, piling wood and kindling in the hearth.

The door to his bedroom gave a light squeak and he whirled, reaching for one of his daggers. But it was only Bartrand.

His brothers' face twisted into a snarl. “So. You came back.”

Varric sank the dagger back into his boot. “Was I not supposed to?” Bartrand stomped across the room and shoved Varric. He sprawled on the ground, a tumble of limbs. “Hey, what-”

“What were you thinking, bringing her here? When the entire guild would be here! Sodding fool. Use your head, boy!”

Varric sat back up. “I didn't intend-”

“No.” Bartrand shoved him down again. “You never _intend_ for these things to go wrong. But they do. You never _think_!” He kicked his legs. “Nug-humping dirt farmer. You always do this. You fuck shit up and then I have to fix it.”

“Hey!” Varric rolled out of the way, holding up his hands. “I am perfectly capable of fixing my own mistakes.”

“No.” His brother leaned over him, sneering. “You're not.”

They locked eyes for a few moments before Bartrand turned, muttering curses the entire way out of his room and down the hall. Varric heard his brother's bedroom door slam so hard it rattled the pictures on the wall.

 

\---

 

 _Hiding from the servants in my own home._ Varric shook his head as he takes Bianca's crossbow out of its niche in the wall and carries it back to his room.

The weight is perfect in his hands. He sits at the end of his bed, lovingly going over every detail. He hasn't had time to do this yet – to really look at the crossbow.

Every single flourish, every delicate detail – he can feel her in every piece. The curve of the wood stock, the etching on the metal arms. He slots the bolts into place, admiring the smooth click as they slide into place.

Varric knows crossbows. He's used them since he was young. None of them have ever been as _magnificent_ as this one. It was as beautiful as it was dangerous, ornate and simple at the same time.

It was a work of art.

He held it up, aiming it at the wall.

 _I've gotta get out of the city to test her_ , he thinks. _Soon._

He hears a creak in the hallway, a tentative step on the floorboard, and he freezes. If it had been Bartrand, or one of the servants, it would have been louder. Assured.

Someone didn't want to be heard, and didn't know the floorboards well enough to know where to step.

Varric steps to the door, pushing it open with a fingertip, the crossbow over his shoulder.

Someone springs from the shadows, metal glinting in the firelight.

_Shit._

He fires blindly in the dark, feeling the person's movement more than he sees them. He steadies himself, fires again. And again. The instinct to reload is there, but the crossbow doesn't need it.

Someone wrapped head to toe in black leather is coming at him with knives. He feels the bite of their blade against his forearm and he hisses, then fires, hits them square in the shoulder. Not enough to kill, but to stop from killing him. Long enough so he can ask questions.

The intruder stumbles, then launches themselves across the room, pushing the window open and dropping down.

Varric leans out the window, seeing the dark shape grip their shoulder as they run through the street.

He presses his palm against the bleeding gash on his arm.

“Varric?” Bartrand looks at the bolts embedded in the wall. “What the fuck is going on here?” His eyes narrow on his bleeding arm. “What-”

“Assassin.” Varric grabs a cloth from the dresser and presses it to his arm. “Someone tried to assassinate me.”


	14. Chapter 14

**6 Guardian 9:27**

V,

I opened the thaig for Paedus. They were awfully impressed.

So now my family is relaxing their guard. I still can't be seen with you, obviously,

but maybe if we're careful? There’s something I need to tell you.

-B

 

**7 Guardian 9:27**

_An address is written above a hasty map, a star marking an alley._

Please come.

I miss you.

-V

 

* * *

 

 

“You came.”

Bianca had never heard his voice sound like that, and it shot electricity up her spine.

“Of course I came.” She turned to him, opened her mouth to speak, but he quickly embraced her and slipped his lips against hers. A groan, almost a growl, low in his throat as he kissed her.

The cold air stood no chance against their hot breath. Varric pressed her against the wall in the alley, her hands grasping his back beneath his coat.

“Bianca,” he whispered against her neck, nudging the scarf away to kiss her collarbone.

“Please, Varric. Wait.”

But she’s not stopping him.

“I missed you.” He closed his mouth around hers. Her lips were so cold as he kissed her. “I missed you so much.”

"I missed you, too." She pulled his face back with her hands, and he saw her eyes glittering with tears.

“What's wrong?”

She looked down, hands curling into fists in his shirt. “I...” Her mouth kept opening, eyes darting around to look anywhere but at his face. “I can't...”

Varric stiffened. “Are you in danger?”

“No. Not at all.” She held onto him, fierce, leaning her weight on his arms. “There's just something I need to tell you.”

He visibly relaxed. “What is it?” Cupping her face, his hand so large. She leaned into it, closing her eyes.

“I’ve… agreed to something that will keep you safe – keep both of us – safe.”

“You mean keep your family from trying to kill me?”  
She sighed. “They wouldn’t… actually, literally kill you.”

Varric rolled up his sleeve to show the jagged, angry red line across his arm. “Actual, literal assassins that actually, _literally_ tried to kill me.”

Bianca trails a finger over the cut, a complication of emotions warring on her face before she sets her jaw and raises her eyes to his. “My family has a plan to end all this. And I’ve agreed to it.”

“Oh?” He shifts his sleeve back down. “What plan’s that? I thought you did your plan… opening the thaig and all.”

Her eyes drop immediately down to their intertwining fingers. “No, there’s more to it. And it’s not _my_ plan. It’s my parents’. But… I’m going through with it.”

Varric waits for her to speak, feeling her hands tighten in his grasp.

_What have you done now, my girl?_

She squeezes her eyes shut and says in a rush, “I’m getting married.”

Ice curdles in Varric’s stomach. “What?” He can hear the blood rushing in his ears. “What did you say?”

“I’m getting married.” Bianca opens her eyes, apology wrinkling up her brow and making her bite her lip. “To one of the Paedus boys. It’s an attempt to unite-“

“You’re _what?_ ”

She winces. “It was officially arranged on Wintersend. But because of how tense things are, we’re not waiting until Bloomingtide for the ceremony, so it’s going to be… fast.”

 _Too fast._ “Bianca, you _can’t_.” His voice broke on the word.

Bianca’s lips were trembling and tears glittered on her lashes. “I can.” She took a shaking breath. “And if it keeps you safe-“

“Hang my safety!” Pulling her in, hand on the back of her neck, he pressed his mouth to hers and she parted her lips with a gasp, whimpering as he drew her in deeper. He broke the kiss, bumped her forehead with his. “I’ll fight off assassins every day if it means being with you.”

She shook her head. “We’re never going to actually _be_ _with_ each other. You know that, don’t you? Even if things settle down, there’s too much bad blood. They’ll never let us be together.”

Varric drew a thumb over her cheek, so soft under his hand. “Not here, maybe. But somewhere else…”

Bianca looked confused. “What are you-“

“You already got them their damned lyrium mine. No one will blame your family for this anymore.” He was beginning to smile, wide and breathless. “Come away with me. Marry me, Bianca. We can leave Kirkwall, go somewhere without Guild influence. With your skills and my business sense, we can make a new start anywhere.”

She opened and closed her mouth, stunned. “I… Varric, we can’t-“

“Marry _me_ , Bianca Davri,” he said, kissing her softly. “I’m the one who loves you.”

A sharp intake of air against his lips. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” He kissed her again, grinning. “It’s true.”

“You’re just making this harder.”

“No I’m not.” Varric laughed, stepping back. “I’m making it easier. At least, I hope it’s easier to be with me.” He tried to throw his usual bravado into the statement, but it came out sounding needy.

Bianca pulled his arms around her again, her face against his neck. “Varric, I would much rather be with you. But it’s just not possible. There’s no way we-“

“Listen to my plan before you say it’s impossible.” He had no plan, but he started talking, spinning a story of the two of them sneaking off in the dead of night, getting married by a captain friend of his by the docks, then escaping by moonlight to live the rest of their lives in a foreign, exotic city.

As he talked, her expression grew lighter, a small smile tentatively curling her lips. “That sounds amazing, but… Can you really arrange all that?” A crease formed between her brows. “The wedding’s in two weeks.”

That pulled him up short. “Two weeks? That’s… fast.”

Bianca’s little smile faded.

“Hey.” Varric tipped her chin up with his knuckle. “What if I _can_ do it? What if I can arrange everything in time? Would you have me, my girl?”

Her expression grew soft, radiant. Then she punched him on the arm. “What kind of question is that? Of course I would. _Of course I would._ ”

Joy bubbled up in Varric’s chest and he lifted her by her hips, spinning her in a circle, his coat swinging out behind them. “ _My girl_.”

She buried her head in his neck, arms tight. “Please put me down.”

He did, laughing. “I lo-“

Bianca puts her hand to his mouth, stopping him. “Don’t say that again.”

“Bianca, I-”

“Don't. Not until you have a _real_ plan. Not until we’ve done it, and we’re safe, and we can finally be together. It’s too hard to hope until then.” She's stern, but soon breaks into a smile. “Just kiss me again.”

So he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I have [a Varric/Bianca playlist on Spotify](http://open.spotify.com/user/sugarhihihello/playlist/0K8AdMan3jbO6ZQPYUqvap) if anyone's interested. ;)


	15. Chapter 15

**7 Guardian 9:27**

Messere Brigid Cadash,

We received a contract for the younger Tethras and yet the hit was… unsuccessful. I’m only admitting to this because of the _reason_ my men were unsuccessful.

He fought them off with a crossbow.

A _repeating_ crossbow.

If the Tethras brothers had actually managed to create something so valuable, wouldn’t they be showing it off? Drumming up interest for a bidding war of their own?  
Granted, the entire Guild is in a tizzy right now, but it doesn’t seem like them to keep quiet.

Unless there’s a reason for the secrecy.

Perhaps they obtained it through dishonest means?

Seemed like something you should know.

-Dax

 

**7 Guardian 9:27**

Dax,

I knew he’d been hanging around Gerav’s workshop a bit too much.

My man carries a reward with this missive, along with my sincere gratitude, Serah.

Brigid Cadash

 

**11 Guardian 9:27**

My Girl,

Everything is arranged. It’s cutting it close, but it’ll work.

Do you still want me?

Yours,

V

 

**11 Guardian 9:27**

_The backside of the previous letter:_

Yes, you stupid boy.

 

**12 Guardian 9:27**

My Girl,

You’re such a sweet talker.

Just before sunset, on the 14th, meet me at the docks, aboard the ship _The Spanker_.

I’m sorry about the name.

I’ll see you soon,

Varric

 

**13 Guardian 9:27**

V,

 _The Spanker._ How romantic.

Running away on the morning of my wedding.

You realize this is going to cause _the biggest_ scandal, right?

I’ll be there. I’m terrified. But I’ll be there.

Your Girl

 

**13 Guardian 9:27**

My Girl,

Soon we’ll be together, and you won’t have to be afraid of anything.

And I can finally say what you won’t let me.

And I can finally make you say it back.

Yours,

Varric.

 

* * *

 

Varric had spent the last two weeks making everything perfect. He had arranged for horses to take them to Markham, then to Wycome. He’d tied up the last of his affairs for Bartrand, and written a letter giving the location of several caches of even more information. His friend, captain of a small ship, was nodding off where he sat, having woken up before sunrise to perform the ceremony.

The mast of the ship was twined with blue and gold streamers, and Varric had purchased a wreath of daisies for Bianca to wear. He smiled as he ran a hand over the petals. It was overly sentimental, and Bianca was sure to give him hell for it, but he wanted to do things right as much as he could.

He wore a white silk shirt with a blue sash at his waist, had braided his hair back. He even left off lining his eyes.

 _She’s going to laugh at all of this,_ he thought, grinning.

He had never been happier. He suspected the only thing that would make him more happy would be to finally see her, finally marry her and take her away from the danger and darkness of Kirkwall.

Varric slipped his hand into the pocket of his coat – he was, of course, not getting married without his coat, though he had spruced it up for the occasion – and pulled out the ring. He had gone to a half dozen jewelers in the past week, trying to decide what to get her. Bianca really wasn’t a _jewelry_ kind of girl.

He’d eventually settled on a small band of silverite, impossibly thin and equally strong. It was smooth, a perfect circle, masterful in its simplicity. The jeweler he bought it from had no idea what it was worth, as it didn’t have any of the flashier gemstones or gold accents of the other rings.

It had been perfect.

_**She** _ _is perfect._

The sun crested the horizon, bathing the scene in clean yellow light. Sunrise.

Almost time.

Varric cast one last glance around the deck, making sure everything was perfect, then he turned back to watch for Bianca.

Soon, he saw her, blonde curls escaping from the hood of her cloak, pulled tight against the wind. She huddled into herself, looking every direction. He could feel her nervousness from where he stood.

 _Soon, my girl._ He couldn't help the smile overtaking his face. _Soon, we won't have to be afraid._

As she neared the boat, however, something felt wrong. He tried to push the thought aside, but-

The girl pulled back her hood.

Tamarin.

Varric stomped down the gangplank to the dock. "Where is she?"

"I'm sorry, Varric."

He took her by the shoulders, just short of shaking her. "Where is she?"

"She's not coming."

He swallowed hard, glancing at the sun over his shoulder. There was still time. He moved the girl aside and took off running.

"Varric, stop!" She shouted. "They'll kill you!"

Varric didn't stop.


	16. Chapter 16

Mr. & Mrs. Egan Davri  
Request the Pleasure of Your Company  
at the Marriage of Their Daughter

**Bianca Davri**  
**to**  
**Bogdan Paedus**

the Fourteenth of Guardian  
Twenty-Seven Dragon  
at Eight Bells

in the Hightown Chantry

Reception to Follow

 

* * *

 

He could hear the wedding bells. The toll sounded mournful, deep tones echoing against the building, casting discordant harmonies down the alleys he walked. Running caused too many stares.

When he reached the square, he could see the chantry, and the family and friends already gathering on the stairs.

Varric stepped quickly, not caring if her family saw him. There was a gaping wound in his heart and he would give her one last chance to say yes. One last chance to run with him.

 _I'm not just going to walk away._ He ground his teeth, feet a quickening rhythm on the pavement. He walked up the first three steps, trying to steady himself. What was the plan, here?

Someone grabbed him, tugged him off the stairs, pushed him bodily against the Chantry board.

He felt steel at his throat.

"Varric Tethras." A woman's voice, struck through with honeyed gravel.

The wedding bells rang again.

"Hi. Can you maybe wait ten minutes?" He tried to push her off of him but she had him pinned.

"No. You're coming with me."

"I'm really not." He stomped on her instep and ducked under her arm, twisting her grip behind her, finally breaking free and sprinting up the stairs.

He heard a sharp whistle, then shouted orders and the clattering of heavy boots.

_Curse these blighted stairs._

Several pairs of hands grab him, force him to the ground.

The woman who'd held the blade to his throat steps over him, boots by his head. “Let's go.”

He's lifted, hauled backwards.

“No!” He kicks. He hits wildly. He bites one of them in the hand. “Let me go!”

They drag him back, down the few steps he'd managed to climb, across the square. The chantry gets further and further away.

“I swear, you can do whatever you want to me. I don't care. Just let me go for five minutes!”

The woman snarls, a scar pulling up her lip where it slashes down across her face. “Someone gag him.”

But he shouts again, “No! Fuck! Please!”

Then he sees her. Bianca's face is sad but she's still beautiful in a yellow dress with green trim. Her hair is up, loose blonde curls fluttering against her face in the morning breeze. In her hands is a bouquet of white and yellow flowers. Her eyes are on the ground.

Her mother guides her by the elbow as they walk to the chantry doors. They don't mount the stairs. They step from an alcove to the side of the Chantry.

“Bianca!” He shouts, voice grinding to gravel at the abuse. “Bianca!”

Just before his captors drag him behind a column to the side of the square, he sees her head lift, sees her eyes scan every face she sees.

“Bia-”

The woman punches him, hits him square on the bridge of his nose and his head snaps back, hitting the stone column. He sees stars, blood rolling down his lips, and then a rough ball of cloth is shoved in his mouth.

He gags on it, tries to spit it out, but they tie another cloth around his head, muffling his cries.

_Bianca._

“Keep hold of him. Let's go.”

They haul him away and he fights, head still spinning, muscles growing weak, but he fights them every step of the way. His knees scrape along the pavement but he will not make this easy. He waits for the slightest loosening of their hold, but they never let up.

And for the first time since he was a child, Varric finds himself praying. _Maker, please. Please. No._ He tangles his legs with those of the man on his right and they stumble, but none of them let go of Varric's arm.

The sharp point of a dagger against his spine, another at his ribs, and the iron grip of the men on either side of him.

_Maker, please. No._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet Bridgid Cadash, everyone... Quiz Cadash's mommy.

**Author's Note:**

> My dragon age tumblr - <http://andrastesass.tumblr.com>


End file.
